


Charme de Lune

by camaelczarka



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Werewolf Jimmy, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camaelczarka/pseuds/camaelczarka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer of 1922, rumors spread of wolves near Downton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you guys will enjoy this. Werewolves are generally not my thing, but I can't get this fic out of my head.

The spring of 1922 was sodden with rain; a record-breaking year, they said, and the grounds around Downton had flooded so much that ducks had used it as a pond for most of April. The drowned flowers had bloomed late- and some not at all, and summer had come upon them so quickly that it was almost startling. By late May, the leaves on the trees were dark green and large from the rain, the branches weighed down heavily almost overnight. As it began to grow warmer, the house was blanketed in waves of fog and sticky humidity, and there had been several violent thunderstorms by the beginning of June.

It was a fitting summer for the mood in the house, it seemed. Only the year before, Matthew Crawley had died, and Lady Sybil the year before that. There seemed to be very little room left for merriment or enjoyment of pleasant weather, and the mourning family had kept themselves indoors for most of it so far.

Thomas did not mind at all, however- in fact, he did not find the weather unpleasant in the least. The smell of the dirt in the air, of wet, growing things, the contrast of the green leaves against the grey sky- though most of the downstairs set seemed to carry on about the foul weather, he enjoyed it silently. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the sun as well, but he found no point in complaining about something as uncontrollable as the weather.

At breakfast, the small windows in the servant's hall were thrown open, letting in the cool but damp morning air, and the lights were on as though it were fully dark; an odd, orange glow against the grey light from the windows. The cloud cover made it hard to tell if it was early morning or late afternoon, giving the disorienting impression that is was closer to lunch than breakfast. Thomas sat down at the table and lit his second cigarette of the day- and though breakfast was not even ready, most of the servants were seated already.

"It's not exactly hot." Alfred was saying to Jimmy, across the table. "But I barely slept a wink last night."

Jimmy nodded and hummed noncommittally by way of answer, dark hollows under his eyes. Thomas refrained from asking Jimmy how _he'd_ slept- though it was clear by the look of him- making the decision, as he did often, that it would be overstepping the boundaries of friendship.

"It's not so bad." He said instead, and both Alfred and Jimmy looked up at him. He rested his cigarette in his mouth and opened up the morning paper.

"Not so bad? My shirt is sticking to me already. I don't know how anyone can stand this weather." Alfred groused.

Jimmy laughed once, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "Don't you have anything better to do than complain, Alfred? It's far too early in the morning for that."

Alfred pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "I guess I'm not the only one who woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He said, frowning, and left the hall, likely to voice his opinions to Daisy and Ivy in the kitchen.

Thomas chuckled, meeting Jimmy's eyes for a moment. "You look awful." He said, flicking ash from his cigarette into the nearby ashtray. Of course, it wasn't true, exactly. Jimmy looked- well, he looked stunning as usual; his hair was arranged perfectly, he was dressed neatly, his face was as lovely to Thomas as ever- but his eyes tracked up to Thomas's slowly, and the hollows under them were obvious and dark.

"I only hope I don't look as bad as I feel." Jimmy answered, resting his chin in his hand.

"Wasn't it your half day? Didn't see you come in last night." Thomas said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. He _hadn't_ seen Jimmy come in the night before, but he wasn't about to admit to what time he'd stayed up waiting.

"I was out all night." Jimmy admitted, sighing wearily. Thomas tried to not let his distress register on his face. Jimmy was a grown man, and he clearly wanted the time to himself, but Thomas could not help but worry about him.

"You're lucky Carson didn't notice." Thomas said, pausing for a beat."You're not in any trouble, are you?" He asked lowly, against his better judgment- remembering the fair, now nearly a year gone, and the beating he'd taken on Jimmy's behalf. The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"What?" Jimmy asked, sitting up straight. Thomas regretted asking immediately, sensing that he had overstepped- as he tried not to. "Of course not, why would you say that?"

Thomas shrugged, turning his eyes to his newspaper. "No reason," he answered, affecting nonchalance. In his peripheral vision, he watched Jimmy study him for a long moment, a deep frown creasing his face.

Anna and Bates arrived from their cottage shortly thereafter. "That's the second morning in a row," Anna said to the table as she sat, in soft tones. "Poor things."

Thomas glanced up from his paper briefly, his eyes flicking over Jimmy before they settled on Anna. "The rabbits?" He asked, bringing his cigarette up to his lips.

"Yes." She nodded. "All along the outside of the yard. These ones are new. They'd been cleaned up yesterday when we walked home."

"Must be a fox around or something." Thomas answered, shrugging. "Or a bunch of foxes." He'd seen the mutilated rabbit corpses the day before, as the hallboys had scrambled to clean them up, and they hadn't been pretty. Mutilated was the right word, as well, because most of them had been bitten right in half.

"There's a _wolf_ out there." Daisy's appeared in the doorway, carrying the plates for breakfast. Thomas looked over his shoulder at her, raising his eyebrows, but her face was drawn, her lips pressed firmly together.

Bates laughed gently, shaking his head. "There aren't any wolves in Yorkshire, Daisy- nor anywhere in Britain. Not for hundreds of years, at least."

Daisy placed the plates down on the table, her eyes full of serious, gullible fear. "But I heard it howling last night! I woke up to get a glass of water, and I heard it howling at the moon."

"But there _weren't_ any moon out last night, it was _raining_." Jimmy said, his face sour.

Thomas shot him an amused glance before turning back to Daisy. "Dogs howl too. Maybe you heard Isis. Or a stray."

"You all don't know for sure." Daisy insisted. " _I'm_ the one who heard it. Maybe someone had a pet and it got loose. And the rabbits..." She shivered, returning to the kitchen quickly.

Anna sighed, looking around the table. "I'm sure it's nothing. But they _are_ a little unnerving. And the farmers complaining about sheep getting picked off..."

"A pack of strays then." Thomas said, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray as Carson entered the room, and they all stood.

They ate breakfast in near-silence, the heavy, muggy air settling oppressively over the room as the sun rose higher, somewhere far behind the wall of clouds. Mrs. Patmore passed by in the corridor, ushering Miss Douglas- the new cook from the Crawley House- to the door. "That should get you through the week, but _whatever_ you do, _don't_ use too much of it, or you'll be sorry-" Mrs. Patmore was directing loudly as they walked by. Jimmy frowned over his teacup, his eyes tracking the women in the corridor.

"What is it?" Thomas asked him quietly, wondering if he was sore over Mrs. Patmore telling him off for something. He glanced over his shoulder quickly, his eyes connecting with Miss Douglas's through the doorway before she past out of view.

"She's always looking at you." Jimmy answered, and Thomas was taken aback for a moment, but he shook his head. "Mrs. Patmore?" He screwed up his face in distaste, but he knew that Jimmy meant the new cook.

Jimmy tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at him. "You know who I mean."

"Well, that's too bad." Thomas pushed away his plate and picked up a cigarette and his lighter. "Though I suppose I could give it a try, you never know." He said, lighting his cigarette.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, but set down his teacup a moment later, wincing. "What's wrong?" Thomas asked, watching pain flit across Jimmy's face.

"Nothing." Jimmy answered, tightly. "I burnt my hand yesterday, is all."

"I have a salve for that-" Thomas said, hissing when Jimmy flashed his hand at him across the table. The burn was bright red, even in the dim light, splashing across his palm and the tips of his fingers. "-I'll get it for you." He stood, pushing his chair in.

"You don't have to, right now." Jimmy said, as Thomas tucked his pack of cigarettes into his jacket pocket.

"I have some papers I left upstairs, anyway." He lied, so Jimmy would not think he was being overly solicitous, and headed for the stairs and his room.

The burn looked awful, though, and he knew that Jimmy would likely keep it to himself rather than have Carson reprimand him for injuring something that might interfere with his work. _As if he could have kept an accident from happening,_ he thought, snorting to himself, but he knew he was right, as absurd as it was.

Thomas lingered in his room for a while after finding the salve in a drawer; a relic from the earlier days of his war wound. _Make it look like you have things to gather,_ he told himself, as he selected a book from his small collection to bring downstairs with him. He stood at his window for a moment, watching the ceaseless roiling of the clouds above.

Things had been like that between he and Jimmy, always sort of half-on, half-off. They had a serviceable friendship now, but there was always that unspoken _something_ , that uncomfortable touch of memory underlining their interactions. Thomas tried his best to keep from being overly familiar, but he knew that he failed sometimes, miserably. And though Jimmy mostly did not mention it, Thomas knew that he noticed it- but _lately_ , things were more _off_ than they were _on._ Thomas tried to pinpoint the exact moment when it had happened, but he could not- because there were still times when Jimmy would step away from him, as though he were standing too close- and then there were other times, when Jimmy would sit next to him during meals or nudge him with his elbow when Alfred said something particularly stupid, or when Carson assigned them extra work.

Thomas sighed, rolling the small tin of salve in his hand, and closed the window in anticipation of the rain before he took the stairs back down.

It was strange for Thomas, that his feelings for Jimmy were still so intense, that the pain they caused was still so sharp and new even when he knew they would never be returned. He had made an effort to put Jimmy out of his thoughts- as much as he could, when the reminder of him was so constant- but he still _loved_ Jimmy, try as he might to stop himself. It was a weak spot that he could not protect, an irritatingly vulnerable part of himself that was exposed. And it was foolish as well; to love someone so unconditionally and without reservation, and to be content with whatever he got from them.

Jimmy was not in the servant's hall when he returned, and he checked the kitchen, but only found Alfred hovering near Ivy while she scrambled to arrange the Ladies' breakfast trays. "Seen Jimmy?" He asked them, leaning in through the doorway. "I think he's speaking to Mr. Carson," Alfred answered.

Thomas turned on his heel and headed towards Carson's office, hearing the butler's raised voice in the corridor. The door to his office was open, however, and Thomas lingered outside it for a moment, trying to catch his words.

"-the same thing a few weeks ago, James, if I recall!" Carson's voice was very stern, and gaining volume, as though he was about to become angry.

"I know -out of my control-" Jimmy answered, his voice low enough that Thomas missed some of his words. "-I won't take a single afternoon for the rest of the month- _after_ tomorrow, I swear it-"

Thomas rapped his knuckles against the door jamb in announcement, spurred on by the conversation he'd had with Jimmy at breakfast. "I can pick up his work for tonight, Mr. Carson. And tomorrow if need be," he said, before he'd thought it through. Fear suddenly gripped him over whatever business Jimmy had gotten mixed up in- the lack of sleep, the burn on his hand- he glanced over at Jimmy, and saw the barest hint of panic on his face.

Mr. Carson sighed heavily, and made as if to speak, his hand hovering in the air over his desk. "Alright-" He finally conceded, with a dour expression. "But if you continue to need _days_ at a time off, James-" He threatened. "Then perhaps the job of first footman is not for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson." Jimmy said tightly, nodding, before he hurried for the door.

Thomas followed him into the corridor, where Jimmy paused when they were reasonably out of earshot of Carson's office. "You didn't have to do that." Jimmy said, half-frowning.

"It's fine." Thomas insisted, fishing the tin of salve from his waistcoat pocket. "For your burn." He said, passing it to Jimmy, who took it from him awkwardly with his unburnt right hand.

"Thank you," Jimmy said, staring at it for a long moment. Thomas stood still before him, wondering if Jimmy expected him to walk away, or say something.

Jimmy's eyes flicked up to his face quickly, almost startling Thomas with the contrast of his slow movements throughout the morning. "What is it?" He asked, unsteadily, as though Jimmy had taken offense to him suddenly.

"Nothing..." Jimmy said, his voice drowsy. They were standing close already, but Jimmy took a step closer, into Thomas's space, and lifted his left hand, pressing it against Thomas's chest.

Thomas took a hitching breath at the unexpected touch, his heart skipping a beat. When his pulse returned it came in flutters, try as he might to control himself. He could feel the warmth of Jimmy's palm through the layers of cloth over his skin, pressing firmly as though holding him in place against some invisible wall. Jimmy's were eyes locked into his, and they were standing so close that Thomas could see his pupils dilate in the dim light.

"Jimmy-" Thomas said, unable to think up anything else to say. As alarmed as he was by Jimmy's behavior, he was arrested by the touch, and fought against leaning into it.

Jimmy took a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly- and he closed his eyes, his brow creasing as if in concentration, and stepped back, removing his hand. He swallowed, and said, "Thank you," again, but Thomas could barely hear his voice over the hammering of his heartbeat in his own ears.

"Ah, you- you're welcome-" Thomas managed to answer, nodding. He glanced around, remembering where they were, and hoping no one had witnessed the moment. Not that it had been anything on Jimmy's part- anything but a combination of exhaustion and whatever else he was going through-

The corridor was empty, though, save for the two of them, and Thomas realized that the moment had maybe only been a few seconds- though it felt like it had drawn out for minutes. His skin was still tingling where Jimmy's hand had been.

Jimmy tucked the tin of salve into his pocket. "I have work to be doing-" He muttered, and turned away from Thomas, heading for the kitchen.

* * *

 

Thomas was awake late into the evening, reading the book he had brought down from his room that morning. Jimmy had changed and left after luncheon was served to the family, and had not returned for many hours. Thomas had worried when he waited up the night before, but this night his worry had blossomed into full-fledged anxiety, and he smoked his cigarettes end to end, until the pack was nearly empty.

His eyes scanned the pages of the book unseeingly, and he set it down on the table for what must have been the twentieth time within the hour, tapping his fingers impatiently against it's cover. He glanced at his watch, and realized that it was _very_ late, indeed- close to three. His anxiety doubled, driving him out of his chair and out into the night air of the courtyard.

 _If he doesn't show up in ten minutes, I'm going to sleep,_ he told himself, with a conviction that he did not feel. He was too keyed up to sleep, and he knew he wouldn't until Jimmy returned. _I_ knew _he was in trouble,_ Thomas thought, shaking his head.

His mind went again to the memory of Jimmy's hand on his chest that morning, as it had a thousand times during the day. The spot, opposite of his heart, felt as though a weight rested on it still, as if the burn on Jimmy's palm had left an imprint on his skin, through his clothes. _Pathetic,_ he thought to himself, as he rubbed at the spot with his hand, _that you'll hold on to something so small from him-_

Something was _wrong_ with Jimmy, though- he owed someone a debt or was in trouble or so exhausted he could barely keep awake. Thomas felt a sharp pang of anxiety again, and his eyes darted around the courtyard frantically, as though he would catch sight of Jimmy returning at any moment.

The clouds had threatened to spill all night, but hadn't. Thomas heard a far-off a roll of thunder, and a distant flash of lightning lit the horizon with a flare of purple-grey. "Hurry it up, will ya?" He said aloud, quietly. "Before it pours."

Thomas reached into his pocket, removing the last cigarette from his pack, and his lighter. He flicked the lighter open and lit the end of the cigarette, all ambient light blotted out for a moment by the orange glow of the flame. His eyes scanned the courtyard, catching for a moment on two small points of light by the far wall, and he startled, dropping his lighter into the dirt. He was rendered blind for a few seconds as his eyes readjusted to the dark, and he scrambled for the lighter, finding it in the dirt by feel alone.

 _There's what got the rabbits-_ he thought, resting his cigarette in his mouth and flicking the lighter again, this time away from his face. The eyes- if that's what they had been, were gone now, and he looked around quickly, trying to find them again, forcing back a prickle of unease. _Those eyes were too high up to be a fox, it must be a dog, like I thought before,_ he told himself, and he took his cigarette from his mouth with his free hand, and whistled softly.

"Come here, doggie." He whispered, whistling again, and the light from the flame caught eyes again as the face of whatever animal it was turned towards him. It was by the courtyard wall again, in a different spot, as though it was trying to navigate it's way out without being seen.

"That's alright-" He whispered, inching closer. His lighter was growing hot, so he closed it, and wandered closer to the animal in the pitch dark. Lightning flashed briefly, throwing diffuse light over the house. Thomas squinted, making out the shape of the animal, huddled against the wall in fright.

It was _large_ \- a _large_ dog, or maybe that was just the way the shadows looked from the lightning, he couldn't be sure. "There now, don't run off-" He said, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He held his hands out, cigarette in one, lighter in the other. "You've been causing a lot of trouble, haven't you?"

Thunder clapped loudly overhead, and Thomas flinched. The dog darted away, deeper into the courtyard, and Thomas lost sight of it. Lightning struck again, this time not behind the clouds, but somewhere in the nearby fields, and it lit up the night as if it were day for an instant. " _Shit_ -" Thomas whispered, worrying again about Jimmy, but he caught sight of the dog crouched in the corner, hiding behind the rubbish bins.

Thomas crept closer, trying not to frighten the skittish creature. It turned circles in the corner, and Thomas thought maybe it was shivering, but it was impossible to tell in the darkness. "It's alright, you don't need to run off- I'm not gonna hurt ya-" Thomas took a long drag off his cigarette and threw it, and tucked his lighter away. He reached his hands out again, placating.

The dog started growling softly when he was a few yards away, and he paused. "S'alright-" He said, in the gentlest tones he could. He took a slow step forward, but the growling grew much louder, and he swallowed.

"Don't you growl at _me,_ I'm not going to do anything, I just want to look at you." Thomas said. "There's no reason to be _scared_ , you're the one lurking around here for scraps- scaring Anna with the rabbits and Daisy with your howling-"

He inched forward, reaching his gloved hand out, and the growling faltered and stopped. The dog hesitated for a few long moments, but then craned it's neck out, sniffing in the direction of Thomas's hand. Thomas let out the breath he'd been holding, and crept closer still.

"There, that's a good dog." He said, running his fingertips across the bridge of its nose. He took a shaking breath, and was momentarily stunned by his own stupidity in approaching the possibly dangerous animal. It _appeared_ to be calm, but it _was_ backed into a corner, and if it's bite was vicious enough to rip small animals in half, his arm wouldn't fare much better.

The dog took an unsteady step away from the wall, pushing the top of it's head forcefully against the palm of Thomas's hand. It's fur was soft under his fingers, and Thomas relaxed, stepping closer still, running his hand over it's head again. "Hello, you." He said, and lightning flashed again, illuminating the yard, and he got a good look at the animal.

"Oh-" He said, almost stumbling backwards, but caught himself against the sudden movement. The dog was _huge_ , and it's back hit him at mid-thigh. Its head was easily twice the size of Isis's- or any dog large dog he'd seen, _ever_ \- with longish fur, and bright eyes that reflected the lightning clearly.

 _That's no dog,_ the thought came unbidden, and he remembered Daisy's fearful face, insisting that there was a _wolf_ around. _No, couldn't be-_ he thought, feeling a tremor in his limbs. He'd never _seen_ a wolf in person, of course- but if he ever saw one, this is what he would have expected it to look like-

The creature bowed it's head and stood still, as if awaiting the return of Thomas's hand. "No, you're no wolf-" He said, but thought of the rabbits, and the sheep. "You're just an exotic breed, I bet." _Or an exotic pet, taken back from some Lord's trip to the mountains._ He petted it's fur again, pressing his shaking fingers to the top of the animal's head.

 _That's a bloody wolf._ His brain told him, and he fought down his fear. _No, that's impossible._

He closed his eyes, thinking of Jimmy. _Please just get back soon, I'm standing outside petting a wolf and waiting for you_. He laughed to himself at the absurdity of it. _And it's almost dawn,_ he thought, opening his eyes. His eyes were adjusted fully to the dark, but it was getting light enough that he could see dim shapes around him; the walls, stacks of crates to the right, the wolf-dog in front of him. It hard to tell much about it other than shape and size, but it seemed to be light-furred; white on its paws and chest, blending into a slightly darker color over the top of its head and back. "At least you're tame." He said, frowning.

It whined and bumped it's head against Thomas's leg, the animal's strength almost enough to knock him off his feet. "Woah, hey, don't _do_ that-" He stumbled, and it whined again, nuzzling against his hand. "I don't know what you want!"

The wolf brushed by his leg, and Thomas lost sight of it as it walked away. Thunder cracked ominously above him, and the subsequent flash of lightning revealed the animal standing by the opening in the wall that led out on to the grounds. It was turned away from him, but facing back, watching Thomas, as if waiting for him to follow. It's eyes shown in the pre-dawn gloom, catching the flickering light.

"You're not serious, are you?" Thomas asked it, reaching for his cigarettes before remembering he'd thrown most of his last one into the dirt.

"Woooo..." The wolf made a quiet sound at Thomas, and it sent shivers down his spine. _If that's what Daisy heard, it's no wonder what she thought._ "I'm not following you into the thunderstorm, dammit!" He hissed.

It yelped at him in response, pacing around in a circle. Thomas felt an stab of fear suddenly, and was overcome by an irrational thought: what if it was leading him to Jimmy? _I must be dreaming to think up something like that,_ he told himself, but his panic urged him forward, his mind filled with visions of Jimmy laying hurt somewhere in the woods.

"Alright, _fine-_ " He jogged after the wolf, feeling a few light drops of rain hit his face. "This is the stupidest thing I've ever-" The wolf darted away from him and into the fields, and Thomas lurched after it, following it out into the exposed grounds. The clouds rolled above him, and the once-distant rumbles of thunder had moved much closer, and had become more frequent. The wide, manicured lawns around Downton were the last place anyone wanted to be during a thunderstorm, but he kept his eyes on the wolf, and hurried after it towards the treeline.

He broke into the woods at a run, just as the rushing noise of rain hitting the leaves on the trees began. He stumbled over fallen branches and thorn bushes, caught up suddenly in deja vu, remembering the morning he had frantically searched for Isis after hiding her. The wolf lingered ahead of him, pausing when he slowed, and rushing off ahead again when he caught up. The leaves on the ground were soon slick with rain and mud, and he struggled to keep his feet under him, hoping against hope that he would find Jimmy, or that Jimmy had slipped into the house before the rain had started, and he'd missed him somehow.

The wolf stopped running by the base of an old pine tree, it's heavy canopy of pine needles creating an odd circle of dry dirt on the forest floor. Thomas skidded to a halt, breathing heavily, and leaned over with his hands braced on his knees. His shirt and waistcoat were soaked, and he'd left his jacket over his chair in the servant's hall. Rainwater dripped off his hair and ran into his eyes.

"Well?" He shouted at the animal, over the noise of the rain and thunder. "What is it?!"

The wolf whined and turned in a circle again, and Thomas inched closer to it, ducking, until he was under the branches of the tree. The wolf moved around the trunk of it, and Thomas, crouching, moved forward, and saw that there was a small suitcase tucked against the roots.

He sucked in a sharp breath, struck by a formless sense of dread at the sight, and nearly tripped himself on the roots in his haste to get to the suitcase. The top of it was rippled with moisture, and it was clasped but unlocked. Thomas grasped the handle and pulled it out into the dim light, his wet hands slipping over the leather as he fumbled to open it. The case creaked open roughly, the hinges rusted from the rain. Inside there were clothes; a shirt, trousers and a jacket, all neatly folded, and a pair of shoes, too- and he rifled through them, squinting. Under the clothes was a blanket that the damp had gotten into, giving off a musty smell. But the clothes were mostly dry, and Thomas picked up the shirt as he looked over at the wolf.

"Why did you bring me here?" He asked it, though the animal had laid down and gone to sleep on the dry ground, and it opened it's eyes at his voice, slowly blinking. "Whose _are_ these?" He asked aloud, feeling a crawling sense of unease.

He replaced the shirt, and his hands stilled over the jacket. Something struck him about it that he couldn't quite place, and he picked it up, and brought it close to his face, inspecting it. _Oh god,_ he thought, his stomach twisting itself in knots before his mind could even put words to the thought. _Oh god, these are Jimmy's, these are_ Jimmy's _clothes!_ The smell of his soap and aftershave still lingered on the cloth, and Thomas had a flash of memory from the afternoon, when Jimmy had waved goodbye to him from the doorway as he left, wearing this exact suit.

"Oh god-" He mumbled, and his vision blurred with tears. "Oh god _no-_ " _He's probably in a ditch, or buried somewhere out here- he's dead... he's dead he's dead,_ his mind was overcome with the thought, and his hands curled into the fabric of of the jacket, his knuckles going white.

The unreality of the moment overwhelmed him; Jimmy touching him in the corridor, his gaze unfixed, the burn on his palm, his sleepless eyes over the table- and then the wolf- a creature that did not exist in nature, not _here_ anyway, leading him into the woods to a suitcase of Jimmy's things. He looked up, and in the dreary, rain-filled early morning light, he did not see the wolf, sleeping under the umbrella of pine needles, as it had just a moment before.

Instead, where the wolf had slept, lay _Jimmy_ \- unclothed, his loose hair ruffled softly by the wind. Thomas let out a cry- in anguish, or relief, or surprise, he couldn't be sure, but he dropped the jacket into the suitcase and crawled across the dirt to look at Jimmy's face. He had to look at him, just to be sure- _but the wolf, where did the wolf go?_ He thought, unwilling to believe the answer that sprung into the front of his mind.

Jimmy's eyes were closed in sleep, and he was _breathing_ , the movement of his chest visible in the half-light of dawn. His face was streaked with dirt and rain, and his hands and feet were covered in a coat of dried mud- but he looked unharmed, otherwise. Numbly, Thomas reached for the suitcase and pulled the musty blanket from underneath Jimmy's clothes, and threw it over him, carefully, as though not to wake him. He let his trembling fingers brush over Jimmy's hair, quickly- just to make sure of the solid reality of him, and then sat back on his heels.

 _Jimmy, and the wolf- The wolf was there, and then it was gone, and there was Jimmy,_ he thought, shaking his head at himself, as his mind made the conclusions for him. _The wolf- there was no wolf. Or there was, but the wolf was Jimmy._

_NO, that's not possible!_

But there was evidence, too- Jimmy disappearing until dawn on the three nights when the moon was fullest- and he'd done so the month _before_ , as well. Thomas recalled how Carson had shouted about it when he'd been listening from outside his door. Carson had thought it had been a only few weeks previous, but if Thomas counted off the days in his head, it _was_ a bit longer. And the suitcase, left in the rain, with a blanket, and Jimmy's clothes, which he would have changed out of- and the rabbits- and the sheep, and Daisy hearing howling in the wee hours of the morning-

Jimmy stirred, his brow furrowing, and Thomas stumbled backwards, and walked away as quickly as he could manage without making too much noise. He had no idea what Jimmy thought had happened, or if he remembered anything- and he didn't want him to wake up, naked, with Thomas leaning over him, and no memory of the night before- he felt sick at the thought, and deranged and in shock from what he'd seen.

He pressed his back against a tree, when he was a suitable distance away. His hands were shaking violently, and his clothes were soaked through, chilling him. The thunder and lighting had moved off into the distance again, but he longed for a cigarette and to wake up in his bed, the whole night having been a strange, terrible dream. _Things like this aren't real_ , he thought. _Mrs. Patmore's been slipping opium into to the tea, maybe._ It was, in all honesty, a more likely explanation.

 _You have to go back_ , he told himself, as he pushed away from the tree. He stood still for a moment, looking to the edge of the treeline, and then back the way he'd come. _Just go back and say you were looking everywhere for him. He's sick, he's probably scared, he needs help- You can't just leave him there._ Hesitantly, he headed back towards the pine tree where he'd left Jimmy. He wondered, deliriously, if he would see Jimmy there at all, or if he'd fallen asleep at the table in the servant's hall and had sleepwalked all the way to the woods, carried along by a dream.

But he _did_ see Jimmy, and before Jimmy saw him. He put his body behind a nearby tree, and watched Jimmy from a distance. Jimmy was half-dressed, still sitting under the tree, and buttoning his shirt up slowly. Thomas was too far to _really_ see him, but he could tell enough that Jimmy was staring off into the distance. Jimmy finished buttoning his shirt and paused, hunching over, his shoulders shaking visibly. He dropped his face into his hands and sobbed, loud enough that Thomas could hear him over the rain when the wind blew in his direction.

 _I've never seen him cry before_ , Thomas thought, and it pained him to see it now; a private moment that he could not look away from. He almost went to Jimmy then, but something held him back. _He doesn't want me to see this. He'll think I've been following him. He doesn't want me to comfort him. I'm no good at comforting people, anyhow._

Jimmy shook himself, threw his waistcoat and jacket over his arm, and pushed the suitcase back under the roots of the tree. He stood, his head brushing against the low branches of the pine tree, releasing a small waterfall of droplets from off the needles, and stepped out into the rain. He walked slowly out of the woods, in the direction they'd come before, when Jimmy hadn't been _Jimmy,_ but had been a _wolf_ -

Thomas shook his head to clear his thoughts. _No_. There was just no way that Jimmy _could_ be- things like that _didn't exist_. They didn't. They did not.

He gave Jimmy a good lead before heading back to the house. There was a small puddle of rainwater just inside the door, and he followed Jimmy's wet shoe prints up the stairs, splitting off to his own bedroom. He stripped out of his waterlogged suit- it would need to be properly cleaned, and he hung it carefully by the door. He laid in bed, and tried to sleep, but his mind was numb, and he reviewed everything he'd seen over and over again until it meant nothing to him anymore. The touch, the wolf, Jimmy- he dozed off fitfully, until his alarm woke him too few hours later.

* * *

 

The next morning, it felt to Thomas as if something had shifted- as if there was something strange about the air. The feeling downstairs was tense and layered with unspoken words. It _looked_ much the same as the day before; overcast, the lights on- except that it was still drizzling outside, and the rain had brought it a wave of muggy, uncomfortable warmth.

Jimmy had not yet come down by the time Thomas had started on his second cup of coffee- a necessity to keep awake, after the night before. _Can't say as I blame him_ , he thought. _Running around all night-_ he pushed the thought away. _No, it's impossible._

Jimmy arrived to breakfast a few minutes after everyone had sat down to eat. His eyes were red from the lack of sleep and the hollows beneath them were even more visible than the previous morning. A vision of him crying under the pine tree flashed into Thomas's mind, unbidden- but all thought was erased from his mind when Jimmy's eyes met his across the table. He took a sharp breath at the unexpected intensity of Jimmy's gaze- there was something tangible about it, as though there were an electric current that passed between them, lingering from the storm the night before.

Jimmy did not drop his gaze, but kept his eyes locked on Thomas's for a long second after he sat at the table. Thomas felt a moment of anxiety for a reason he could not name- as though the look contained confirmation about the night before. _Yes, it's true,_ he imagined Jimmy thinking. _Yes, I remember you being there._ But Jimmy took a deep breath- as he had the day before, when he'd pulled his hand away from where it rested on Thomas's chest- and broke eye contact.

Thomas wondered if Jimmy _did_ remember he'd been there, or if his altered state had wiped the memories from his mind, upon his return to his _normal_ form. _He walked back to the house alone_ , Thomas reasoned, feeling a pang of guilt. _But then, he would've thought you'd have run away by then._

"There was an animal attack in the village last night." Bates announced to the silent table. "Mr. Fletcher- who works at the post office- he was bitten by something." Anna nodded solemnly at his side, her lips pressed into a thin line.

The news drew collective gasps. Thomas's heart skipped a beat, and Jimmy's head jerked up quickly, the expression on his face catching Thomas's eye. He looked horrified; quietly stunned, his lips parted as if in silent protest. _The rabbits, the sheep,_ Thomas thought, _and now this._

"What _sort_ of animal attacked him?" Carson asked, the high pitch of his voice the only thing betraying his shock.

Bates shook his head. "That's just it, no one knows. He's in a state- and he refuses to tell anyone anything except to _insist_ that he was attacked by a _wolf._ Whatever it _was_ tore up his left shoulder, though I didn't see it myself."

Jimmy swallowed and looked at his plate, his eyes shifting back and forth. _He's trying to remember,_ Thomas thought, feeling a prickling unease work it's way up his spine. _But he could_ never _do that- could he?_

"I don't like all this talk of wolves." Mrs. Hughes said, shivering visibly.

"Nor do I." Mr. Carson shook his head.

Thomas watched Jimmy take a deep breath, his eyes downcast, his shaking hands holding his fork and knife numbly, hovering in the air above his plate.

"Nor do _any_ of us." Anna said, a frown in her voice. "I hope Daisy doesn't hear about it, she was scared half to death already."

"There must be some _logical_ explanation." Carson reasoned, clearing his throat. "Everyone knows perfectly well that there are _no_ wolves anywhere _near_ Downton."

"If you'll excuse me I left something upstairs-" Jimmy's hurried words ran together, and he dropped his silverware on to his plate with a clatter. The legs of his chair scraped across the floor as he pushed away from the table and retreated from the room. No one but Thomas registered his leaving with anything but a brief glance, still too shocked from the news of the attack.

Thomas swallowed hard, his eyes lingering over the space Jimmy had occupied. He felt as though it was his burden now as well- whatever unnatural thing was happening to Jimmy, it was _his_ secret, too because he'd _seen_ it- his secret to protect. And if Jimmy really _was_ \- it was so unbelievable that he could barely put words to it in his mind- but if Jimmy was turning into a _wolf_ and attacking people in the village on the full moon, he would need someone to keep an eye on him. Thomas couldn't very well let Jimmy be caught- whatever it was that this strange affliction drove him to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY CROC <3!!!!!

Jimmy returned after breakfast had ended. He appeared composed, but too much so- his face a mask of detached concentration- the expression he normally wore only in the dining room while serving.

 Thomas watched him whenever he was able. He _knew_ he shouldn't; he usually made an effort to keep his eyes off the other man, for the sake of his comfort in their  friendship- but he could not help himself after everything that had happened. He watched Jimmy in the kitchen, taking up trays of breakfast food for the family silently. He watched Jimmy return, flexing his gloved hands before picking up another tray, and Thomas remembered the burn on his hands.

  _Silver_ , Thomas thought. _The trays- and nearly everything else he touches- it's all silver. _

 His knowledge on the subject was limited, and based on myths and old wives tales, but he'd heard enough about _werewolves_ to recognize the  signs- or the _symptoms,_ as it were. He had a book in his room with a tale of a werewolf, and he itched for a spare moment to retrieve it. It was a poorly written collection of short stories from some periodical, and the werewolf story itself was little more than the story of a man on horseback being chased through the woods by a fur-covered man with fangs. But even so, he felt compelled to pore over it, to find any hint of truth in it at all, and compare it to what he'd seen the night before.

 Thomas could not shake the sense of dread that filled him, however- especially not after the news of the attack the night before. If Jimmy was ever caught- No, he could not _ever_ let Jimmy be caught, because it would mean his death, surely, especially if he  was caught mauling villagers. Just thinking about it filled him with a cold fear so intense that it took the breath from his lungs for a moment. Protecting Jimmy became the most important thing in the space of a few hours. He would do whatever he could to keep Jimmy from getting caught, even if it meant chasing him around the woods all night.

 But if Jimmy remembered Thomas being with him the night before, he made no indication that he would acknowledge it. Thomas _suspected_ that Jimmy knew, when they made eye contact.

 They passed by each other in a corridor, mid-morning, and Jimmy's eyes locked on to his. Thomas found his gaze so riveting that he did not think to utter any words in greeting; Jimmy's eyes were very light and reflected the dim light, almost. Like the eyes of the wolf, reflecting a flash of lightning in the darkness.

 Jimmy passed by him too close; their elbows brushed, and the noise of fabric on fabric was the only sound besides the constant, muted din of the rain. Jimmy nodded at him when they touched, and that was all. But it again had the same effect on Thomas as when Jimmy had touched him the day before, or locked eyes with him at breakfast. His heart raced. His breath caught in his throat. His skin flushed, overwarm in the muggy air. Thomas reasoned that he'd feel positively about Jimmy touching him- or looking at him- in almost _any_ scenario. But there something about it now, something that stayed with him, something significant. An electric charge.

 A few hours later, Jimmy sat next to him at the table with his lunch, his plate loaded up with all sorts of food- a sandwich, a bit of leftover meat pie, a bowl of ham and potato soup. Jimmy had all but skipped breakfast, and had missed the servant's meal by ten minutes with all the work Carson was giving him to make up for his night off, but Thomas suspected that Jimmy had other reasons to eat so much at once- _he's trying to avoid attacking anyone tonight, perhaps?_ The thought was uncomfortable for Thomas, but he couldn't begin to imagine how Jimmy felt about it.

 “Hello.” Jimmy said, meeting Thomas's eyes for the third time that day, but a bit sheepishly.

 Thomas felt a little thrill chase through him when Jimmy settled into his chair next to his; the table was nearly empty, save for Anna at the far corner, who was bent over a frayed hem with a needle and thread.

 Thomas nodded in greeting, hoping his face didn't betray his thoughts. He wasn't sure how to reveal to Jimmy that he _knew-_ if Jimmy really _couldn't_ remember the night  before- but he figured the last place to tell him was in the servant's hall. He tried his usual tactic- to not overstep the bounds of friendship. _Even if he chooses to sit next to you, or touch you when you're alone,_ Thomas thought, but even just the thought made his breath hitch.

 “Hello.” He managed, working a neutral expression on to his face and grasping for his cigarettes on the table, to give his hands something to do. “Going out soon?” He asked, lighting a cigarette.

 “Yes.” Jimmy answered, glancing at the windows anxiously. “In a few hours, yet.” He picked at his food with his fork, listlessly. Thomas wondered what it _was_ that Jimmy wanted, from physical contact with him, from the nearness. After two years of vague hostilities and fumbling  conversation- that _now_ he wanted Thomas's closeness, or _affection_ -

  _No, but it's not like that, so don't think it,_ Thomas told himself, firmly. _You already know what he wants._

 He thought of the wolf, the night before. A creature vicious enough to rip apart other animals, and capable of wandering into the village to attack grown men- but it had been kind to _him_ , it had trusted him, even, with Jimmy's secret, even if Jimmy could not recall.

  _He wants you to know. He wants a confidant. Because he knows you can be trusted._

 And it was _true_ , in a way- Thomas had never thought of himself as overwhelmingly trustworthy, and he had not been, in the past. Given the right set of circumstances, he was sure that he could betray almost any secret told to him. Except for Jimmy's secrets, of course. That he would- _could_ never  do- he would take them to the grave before he gave them away. Especially this one.

 “How're your hands?” Thomas asked, when he noticed that Jimmy had removed his gloves. The fork he'd brought with him from the kitchen was tarnished and old- steel, Thomas thought, maybe. The usual cutlery downstairs was silver plated.

 “They're alright. The salve did help, thank you.” Jimmy swallowed a mouthful of pie, and shook his head. He held up his left hand. “It was just this one, though.”

 “Oh, right.” Thomas answered, watching Jimmy turn the palm of his right hand away from him, so that Thomas could not see the burns he suspected were visible. It made Thomas's stomach drop and chest ache to think of Jimmy hurting himself, over and over- burning himself on things that he had to touch for his very livelihood.

 Jimmy sighed wearily, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment. “Carson's working me like a dog-” He said, but then snapped his mouth shut abruptly at his own words. His eyes flicked over to Thomas and then away, and he shifted in his seat.

 “Oh?” Thomas asked, feigning nonchalance.

 Across the table, Anna pushed her chair away from the table. Jimmy jumped a bit at the sound, dropping his fork on to his table.

 “Will you watch my sewing for a moment?” Anna asked, as she passed by them on her way out of the servant's hall.

 “Watch it do what?” Thomas asked, lowly, and Jimmy chuckled next to him. Anna rolled her eyes at them- the barest hint of a smile touching the corner of her lips, but continued on her way out of the room.

 Jimmy glanced around over his shoulder at her retreat, as though to check that she was out of earshot, before turning back to the table. “Thomas,” Jimmy said, quietly, and Thomas looked over at him, to see Jimmy glancing up at him, warily.

 Despite himself, Thomas's pulse spiked when Jimmy used his given name- the times he had before were infrequent and deliberate. “What is it?” Thomas asked him, stilling his hands in their attempt to reach out towards the other man.

 Jimmy sighed again, reaching up to push his hair away from his forehead. It fell back down over his eyes in disarray, only adding to his disheveled appearance. It did nothing to diminish his attractiveness, however, and his light eyes were so captivating to Thomas that he could not look away, even though he _knew_ he should.

 “Thomas,” Jimmy repeated, shifting his chair a bit closer to Thomas's. “The thing is- well,” He swallowed, and placed his right hand on the tabletop, palm up. “I've got burns on both hands, now.”

 Thomas hissed, involuntarily, at the sight of Jimmy's burns. He brought his fingers up to Jimmy's hand and pressed them against an unburnt section of his palm, tilting it towards the light. Jimmy's hand was more _raw_ than _burned_ , seeing it close up. His fingertips and the heel of his palm were red, as though he'd pressed his hand flat against wet ink and it had stained his skin. _It's how he holds the silver trays,_ Thomas thought.

 “Ah-” Thomas withdrew his hand quickly when he realized how long he'd been touching Jimmy, rubbing his palm against his jacket reflexively, as though he could almost feel the burn himself. “Sorry.”

 “It's alright.” Jimmy answered, his voice low but steady. His eyes were still fixed on Thomas's face when he looked over. Thomas's heart skipped a beat.

 “Perhaps you need a thicker pair of gloves?” Thomas suggested, his mind foggy from the skin and eye contact. His brain caught up with his words just as they were leaving his mouth. “I mean-”

 Jimmy drew in a sharp breath. “Why do ya say that?”

 “To protect your skin-” Thomas fumbled. “-from the heat.”

 “Oh.” Jimmy answered, slowly. “Yes, I suppose that _would_ help.”

 Jimmy straightened up suddenly, and Thomas realized how closely they'd been sitting, their heads bowed together in quiet conversation. He leaned away as well, hoping he had not made Jimmy uncomfortable with their physical proximity, and flicked the ash from his forgotten cigarette into his ash tray- but Carson appeared a moment later in the doorway, beckoning him off to sort through stacks of bills and payments due out.

 Thomas was inordinately distracted while he worked. His thoughts alternated between abject fear for Jimmy's safety, dread at his leaving for the night, and arousal over the memories of his touch. He did his best to put _those_ thoughts firmly out of his mind, which was relatively easy, with Carson for company, and the formless anxiety that overtook him soon after.

  _Don't attack anyone tonight._ Thomas directed his thoughts at Jimmy, in vain. _Don't go anywhere. Don't let anyone even_ see _you, for god's sake._

 Thomas stepped outside for a cigarette in the late afternoon, and for a change of scenery- his eyes ached from reading in the dim light of Carson's office. He stood under and overhang and watched the rain fall endlessly into the muddy puddles of the courtyard. There was a breeze, which Thomas welcomed, but it was just on the edge of uncomfortably warm, as if hinting of the summer weather the rain obscured.

 Behind him, the door opened and closed, and Thomas turned to see Jimmy, who walked over to him, dressed in his grey suit. It was wrinkled a bit from being folded in the suitcase, and Thomas guessed that he would go nowhere but to the tree, to sit and wait.

 “Leaving?” Thomas asked him, though the answer was obvious.

 Jimmy nodded, his eyes lowered, as if in shame. “Yes.”

 Thomas inhaled off his cigarette, to distract himself from his own nerves. “Be careful. Dangerous animals out there,” he said, nodding towards the woods.

 Jimmy laughed once, nervously. “That's what they say,” he answered, and Thomas could hear the shaking in his voice.

 He wanted to _say_ something, to tell Jimmy that he would come with  him- although he couldn't run off, not when he'd promised to serve at dinner for Jimmy, and not without jeopardizing _both_ of their jobs. He wanted to at _least_ say that he'd find him later, after the sun  set- but he couldn't bring himself to do it, when he didn't know if Jimmy _wanted_ him to or not, or even if Jimmy knew he _knew_ at all.

 Jimmy stayed silent, and swallowed, lingering next to Thomas for a moment. And then he shook his head and waved. “I'll see you later.” He said, and turned to leave.

 “Yes, later.” Thomas answered, and waved in return. He was so consumed with worry that his hands began to tremble as he watched Jimmy walk away, and he crossed his arms over his chest to still them.

  _I_ will _find you later_ , he vowed to himself. _And make sure you are safe._

* * *

After the sun had set, Thomas left the house for the rainsoaked grounds. He searched everywhere for Jimmy- around the courtyard and just outside it, where the rabbits had been left- in the woods, at the tree with the suitcase, which again held Jimmy's clothing- he even checked the shed he had locked Isis in, years back, on a whim- but Jimmy was nowhere to be found. It had been dark for at least an hour by the time he had finished with his work for the night, and it made his search that much harder. He glanced around frantically as he walked along, flicking his lighter periodically, hoping to catch the flash of eyes in the dark.

 Hours later and at a loss for where else to look, Thomas reluctantly returned to the house, feeling sick with worry. He paced the floor of his room for a long while. Eventually, he forced himself to sit still for long enough to read through the werewolf story in his book, but he gleaned virtually no information from it- as he suspected- and resumed his quiet loops around the room. When exhaustion finally overtook him, he propped himself up against the open window and smoked, watching the clouds roll overhead.

  _I should be out there,_ he thought, feeling amiss- he had _promised_ himself,  more or less, to stay outside with Jimmy, and make sure he was alright. A few times, he made for the door, but helplessness overwhelmed him. _It's so dark, and he could be anywhere_ , he thought, frustrated.

 He _wanted_ to sleep;  the combination of two very late nights and the ever-present fear and anxiety made his limbs heavy and his mind slow- but he _could not_ bring himself to move towards his bed, to do anything but sit up and _wait._ And it was made worse by the _knowing_ that Jimmy would not be back before  dawn- it made him feel like he could not rest until the sun made it's upward trek from the horizon, and Jimmy had returned to the safety of his bedroom.

  _What if he gets caught? What if this is the time he doesn't make it back? What if someone sees him and shoots at him?_ Thomas's mind was on an endless loop, repeating his fears, over and over.

 Eventually, the monotony of his thoughts must have lulled him, and he nodded off against the windowsill, standing upright and braced on his folded arms. He was dimly aware of how he stood as he dozed from the twinge in his neck, but his thoughts carried him off to a dream; a half-memory, half delusional nightmare.

 Thomas knelt among the pine needles beneath the tree, Jimmy's jacket clutched in his hands. Jimmy lay before him, as he had the morning before, but his hands and face were covered in blood. His lips were blue and his skin was pale. Thomas looked him over, and realized that his torso had been shot through with bullets, and the once-dry ground under the tree was soaked with his blood-

 He gasped, and jerked awake. He was disoriented for a moment- he remembered the dream, having woken in the middle of it- but there was something else that he couldn't quite grasp, something he was forgetting. Chills ran down his spine.

 He heard the howl of a wolf, _very_ loud, and _very_ close, as though it came from just out on the grounds. Thomas started, feeling the hairs on the back oh his neck raise, and he knew immediately that _that_ had been what had woken him from his dream.

 The wolf howled again, like the noise he had made at Thomas the night before, in the courtyard, only much louder. “WOOoooooooo.......,” it went, and trailed off, edged with an unmistakable note of pain.

 “Oh god, no-” Thomas gasped, and was fully awake in an instant. He flew out of his room and down the stairs, past the servant's hall and out the door, into foggy pre-dawn air. He hesitated for a moment when he reached the edge of the courtyard, not knowing which direction the sound had come from.

 “- _Jimmy_ ,” he hissed, in a loud whisper, grimacing at himself. _Yes, as though he'll hear you and calmly shout back his location,_ he thought. Still, the panic took him forward, heading blindly towards the treeline.

 “Wooooo!” The wolf howled again, quieter this time, but much closer than before. Thomas spun around, breaking into a run towards a small copse of trees at the edge of the grounds. The noise put him on edge, even though he knew what- or _who_ \- it was from, but it was eerie, just the same, and it raised the hair on his arms. As he drew closer to the trees, he could hear the muffled sounds of whimpering and whines of pain. His shoes slipped over the wet grass as he picked up his pace, his feet nearly going out from under him as he ran.

 He caught sight of the wolf standing by the trunk of the closest tree. He was standing awkwardly, with one of his front paws drawn up, though it was hard to see anything in the fog. The air was thick and hard to breathe, and Thomas dropped to his knees into the muddy grass when he finally reached Jimmy's side, panting.

 The wolf limped forward, and Thomas saw the source of his pain; a spiked foothold trap was clamped above his paw, and the fur around it glistened with fresh blood even in the diffuse light of early morning. The spikes were ragged and rust covered, and a few dug deeply into the skin of his leg. Thomas hissed, still breathing heavily, and reached out, but the wolf shied away from his touch, whining.

 “Stop it,” Thomas breathed, and leaned forward, reaching for him again. “No, stop, come here.”

 “Aaooo.” He made a soft noise, and staggered towards Thomas, bumping his head against Thomas's shoulder. Thomas noticed blood on his face too, and swallowed.

 “Listen now, this is me,” there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke. “I'm going to _try_ not to hurt you, but I have to get that thing _off_ of you, Jimmy. So don't bite me or anything.”

 He lifted his hands to the old, rusted trap. The wolf's paw trembled- in fact, he was trembling all over, and Thomas felt a pang of guilt. “If I'd just stayed out here, maybe I could have found you- _dammit- _ and then this wouldn't've happened.”

 He took a deep breath, and grasped the wolf's foot in his hands. The blood was sticky, and _warm_ , which meant it was still flowing freely, and the wolf made a sharp sound, and made as though he would jerk away from Thomas. Thomas looked up at him, into his eyes- which were so alike Jimmy's eyes _normally;_ they seemed to convey a level of comprehension he'd never seen with an actual animal before.

 “Alright, then,” He said, studying the trap for a moment. The springs were very rusted and he doubted they would cooperate for long. “I'm going to pull this open. You have to pull your foot out quickly, because I don't know how long I can hold this thing open.” He hoped the comprehension he'd seen in Jimmy's eyes was real, and not just wishful thinking.

 Jimmy whuffed as if in response, and Thomas grasped both blades of the trap. “ _Don't_ bite me.” He said again, and pulled _hard_ on either side of the clamp. The hinges creaked open incrementally, and the wolf yelped as the spikes slid out of his leg. Thomas grimaced as blood poured over his fingers, making his grip slick, and he put all of his strength into opening it further. When his leg was clear of the blades, the wolf pulled his foot from it, and Thomas flung the blood-covered trap to the side before it could snap shut on his fingers.

 Jimmy whined and slumped to the ground, holding the injured paw up. Thomas edged closer, cursing himself for not bringing any medical supplies with him. He stripped off his jacket, tossing it on to the damp grass at his side, and unbuttoned his shirt with slippery fingers.

 “Alright, come here-” Thomas said, wrapping the shirt around Jimmy's leg tightly. He could see blood soak into it crisp whiteness of it immediately- but then, before his eyes, the fur gave way to skin, and the paw he held was a hand- and looking up, Jimmy was no longer a wolf, but was _Jimmy_ again, huddled against the ground. His face  was smeared with blood and his eyes were filled with tears of pain, and he looked up at Thomas, plaintively, with the silent expression of the wolf.

 Thomas grabbed his coat from the grass and threw it over Jimmy, who clutched it around himself with his uninjured hand.

 “Come on, get up, we've got to get you inside,” Thomas insisted, too worried about Jimmy's injury to wait until he was ready.

 “My clothes...” Jimmy said weakly, slowly drawing himself into a sitting position.

 “Sod your clothes, you're bleeding everywhere and that trap was covered in rust, come on!” Thomas stood, wiping his hands on his undershirt, the only layer that still covered his top half. He reached a blood-stained hand down to Jimmy, who sighed wearily, and slipped his unhurt arm through the jacket sleeve. He tried the same with the other arm, but he cried out in pain when he moved his hand, and gave up, folding it in front of himself.

 “Owww,” he moaned, wincing, and grasped Thomas's outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled up from the ground. Thomas braced him as he wobbled on his feet. “You've probably lost a good amount of blood.” he guessed, unable to check Jimmy's color in the dim light.

 Jimmy nodded mutely, and tucked the other half of the jacket under his injured arm, holding it across himself with the opposite hand. The jacket was long enough, having been made for Thomas's height, that it covered Jimmy to mid-thigh- but his legs were bare and he was covered with blood and his hair was matted and wet from the rain. Thomas sincerely hoped that the howling had not woken anyone, so they could pass unnoticed upstairs. He had no idea what they would say if they were seen.

 “Are you alright to walk?” Thomas asked Jimmy, holding on to his elbow.

 Jimmy nodded again, his head bobbing slowly in the damp air. “Yes,” he managed.

 They began the slow trek back to their rooms. The house was still quiet and dark, and Thomas mentally crossed his fingers at every corner that there would be no one awake to see them. Jimmy was a bit woozy on his feet, but the shirt Thomas had wrapped around his arm was not completely soaked through with blood, which meant the bleeding must have been slowing down. Thomas kept his arm out to steady Jimmy on the stairs, and after a few long minutes of silence, they made it to just outside Jimmy's door.

 “My room or your room?” Thomas asked him, and then grimaced at himself for the way the words had come out.

 “Yours.” Jimmy answered. _Of course,_ Thomas thought, his stomach sinking. _He doesn't want me in his room, not after the last time._ “It's comforting,” Jimmy went on, softly.

 “What?” Thomas balked, sure he had misheard. “My _room?_ ”

 Jimmy nodded silently, but turned to open his own door. “Just need to get something to wear,” he mumbled.

 Thomas nodded. “Right. I have get a few things. I'll be quick.”

 Thomas washed the blood of his hands and arms, and then gathered up the supplies he would need to clean Jimmy's wound; a bowl of warm water, a few clean towels, and the small medical kit that was kept in a closet in the hall. Jimmy was sitting on his bed when Thomas returned to his own room, shirtless, but wearing pyjama bottoms. He'd cleaned the blood off of his face and hands, but the injured arm was still tinged red around the tied shirt. It wasn't exactly the situation Thomas had hoped for when finding Jimmy half-clothed on his bed, but he put the thought out of his mind, and dragged the desk chair over to the bed, to use as a table.

 “You know my secret, then.” Jimmy said, solemnly, as Thomas sat next to him on the bed.

 “Yes,” Thomas said, taking Jimmy's injured hand in both of his. It was his left arm, of course- the one with his dominant hand, which would make working difficult. “I found you last night. Or I should say, _you_ found _me._ ”

 Jimmy swallowed, nodding. “I thought you might have been there, but the rain-” he broke off, wincing, when Thomas tugged on the knot of the shirt. “Ahh- _god_ \- I've never had an injury like this before-” he bit out, as Thomas got the knot free, and began to gently unwrap his arm.

 “No?” Thomas asked him, trying to keep him distracted. Jimmy's face went pale when he saw the wound- and he took a few shallow breaths. “Don't look at it, just look somewhere else,” Thomas told him, reaching over to the chair to wet a towel in the warm water. Jimmy set his eyes on the wall just over Thomas's shoulder.

 The cuts around Jimmy's arm were ragged and still bleeding sluggishly. Jimmy hissed and tried to jerk his arm out of Thomas's grasp when the wet cloth touched the wounds, and Thomas looked up at him. “Stop doing that, will you?”

 “Sorry,” Jimmy answered tightly, his face scrunched up in pain.

 Thomas could see a bit of white in a cut where the skin was close to the bone, and he looked up at Jimmy to distract him. “What about the rain?” He asked, continuing his work.

 “What?” Jimmy asked, pain in his voice.

 “The rain- you said you thought I'd been there, but something about the rain?” Thomas went on.

 “Oh.” Jimmy nodded, and flushed, bringing color back to his paled skin. “Yes, well- I mean, it sounds strange.”

 Thomas laughed and shook his head. “It all sounds strange, to be honest.”

 “Yes, I'm sure it does. It sounds strange to me and I'm the one living with it.” Jimmy sighed and shook his head, his brows furrowing. He looked off to the side, his eyes travelling around the room. “It's just that- I thought I remembered you being there, but then, when I woke up, you were gone. And I thought you'd put the blanket over me, well you must have, right?” Thomas nodded at him, and Jimmy went on. “But because of the rain, I couldn't- I lost your- well- I couldn't _smell_ where you'd  gone- so I thought maybe you hadn't realized that- that it was _me._ ” He grimaced.

 Thomas paused and looked up to the other man, surprised. “You can smell people? Now? Not just when you're...” He gestured in the air with his cloth.

 “Yes.” Jimmy couldn't seem to meet his eyes. “You must think it's disgusting- I'm some sort of beast now, or- or _creature-_ ”

 “Werewolf.” Thomas said.

 “Yes.” Jimmy sighed again, his shoulders slumping. “That. _Werewolf._ ”

 Thomas shrugged. ”I don't think you're disgusting, Jimmy.” he told the other man, unable to keep his feelings for him from coloring the words with meaning. Jimmy mumbled something in reply, a vague affirmative, and flushed darker still.

 “Well. What else can you do?” Thomas asked, after a moment of silence.

 “What else can I _do?_ ” Jimmy asked him, his mouth dropped open.

 “There must be something besides your great sense of _smell_.” Thomas answered, and turned Jimmy's arm over in his hands. “You'll need stitches.”

 “O-oh?” Jimmy said, the tremor returning to his voice.

 “Don't worry, I know what I'm doing.” Thomas answered. “I was a medic in the war, you know.”

 Jimmy nodded, his hand beginning to shake in Thomas's grasp. “Y-yes, I think I heard that b-before.”

 Thomas retrieved a small box of sterilized sutures and needles from the medical kit and set it on the bed to open it, but Jimmy reached over with his opposite hand and clasped Thomas's wrist in an iron grip.

 Thomas looked up at him sharply. “It's got to be done, Jimmy,” he said, but Jimmy shook his head, and fixed Thomas with a look of such heartbreaking sadness that it hurt Thomas to look at him. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, catching the golden light of the lamps.

 “Things like this,” Jimmy said, letting go of Thomas's wrist, and waving his hand at his other arm. “They're going to keep happening, aren't they?” He squeezed his eyes shut, and tears fell down his cheeks. “And someday, I'm going to wander off somewhere and get _killed_ \- and I'm going to lose my _job,_ Thomas- maybe not next month but _soon_ , I'm sure of it, when I don't have any more excuses to leave-” He took a hitching breath, the trembling from his arm filling his entire body.

 “ _No._ ” Thomas insisted, wanting to reach out to him, to offer some sort of comfort. “No, I won't let that happen to you.”

 “But you can't _stop_ it, and neither can _I._ ” Jimmy said, and covered eyes with his free hand, choking back a sob. “And what happens when it's winter, and the sun sets early- and rises late? _That's_ when it happens, you  know- not when the moon comes out at all- it doesn't seem to matter, as long as it's full- and I'll have to leave the house earlier and earlier every month. And when I have to leave- when they find out _what_ I  am- I'll die as an- an _animal_ somewhere, _alone_ , poor, with nowhere to live, and covered in scars-”

 Thomas let go of his arm, carefully resting it on a cloth in his lap, and grabbed both of Jimmy's shoulders. “You _won't,_ because I'll be there to help you.”

 Jimmy shook his head, and wiped at the tears that continued to roll down his face. His eyes were red-rimmed when he looked at Thomas, the irises startlingly blue against it. “You don't want that kind of responsibility, no one would.”

 “Yes I do.” Thomas answered. It wasn't even a choice, he could do nothing else. “You think I could let that happen to you without lifting a finger?”

 Jimmy hiccoughed, and said, “It's what I deserve.”

 “No it isn't.” Thomas shook his head, and handed Jimmy one of the unused clean towels in lieu of a handkerchief. “And I won't let it happen, besides.”

 Jimmy dried his face on the corner of the towel and took a deep breath, calming himself. He reached out and took Thomas's hand in his own. Thomas felt a band around his chest, a heavy pressure, all of his love for Jimmy, weighing on his heart.

 “I'm sorry.” Jimmy said, looking ashamed. “I'm so afraid. I can never let anyone find out about this, or else I'm sure I'll be killed for it.”

 “Then we'll just have to be very careful, won't we?” Thomas asked, and gave him a wan smile. He gave Jimmy's hand a reassuring squeeze, and then let go, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. “But you've got to let me sew these up.”

 “Alright.” Jimmy said, composing himself and nodding at his arm. “It hurts so badly- every time my heart beats-” He shivered, and glanced down at the injury, and then quickly away.

 Thomas opened the box of silk threads, encased in sealed glass vials, and selected a needle, threading it. Jimmy went pale again, watching Thomas and his still bleeding cuts alternately.

 “I told you not to look,” Thomas said, and Jimmy gulped, his eyes sliding towards the wall. “Tell me about it, then.” Thomas asked, as distraction, as he began to stitch up the deepest cut- the one where he could see bone.

 “Ahh!” Jimmy gasped as the needle pierced his skin, and flinched away, the hand on his injured arm flexing into a fist. Thomas paused, anticipating his movement. “Um- what? Tell you about what?”

 “Don't move. Hold as still as you can.” Thomas said, and resumed the stitching. “Anything. Tell me something to keep your mind off of this.”

 “Um...” Jimmy was breathing quickly, and his arm shook, but he spoke. “Um, I-I can hear very well now. I can almost see perfectly in the dark. It- it still looks _dark,_ but- I can make out what's happening- mmph- all my senses, really- are better now.”

 “That doesn't sound too awful.” Thomas said, tying off a suture. He moved to the next cut.

 “I guess not.” Jimmy answered, breathlessly. “Th-this isn't as painful as I expected. Not nearly so much as the trap.”

 Thomas laughed, and held up his gloved hand for an instant. “Remind me to show you my bullet wound sometime.” Jimmy nodded, and Thomas glanced over to see Jimmy's white knuckled grip on his knee, twisting into the fabric of his pyjama bottoms.

 Jimmy lapsed into silence for a while. Eventually, his grip on his own knee loosened, but he kept his palm pressed flat against the fabric of his pyjamas. Thomas finished the stitches on the top half of his arm and sat up, setting aside the needle, to rub at his temples. The sky outside his room was grey, spilling dim light into the room.

 “It must be close to five,” Thomas said, “I've got to get the other side- it's not as bad, though.”

 Thomas finished the rest of the stitches, and covered the cuts in ointment before wrapping a length of gauze around Jimmy's arm. Jimmy watched him quietly, seemingly having become inured to sight of the wound after it was stitched and the bleeding had slowed.

 “Be careful with it. You don't want to rip your stitches,” Thomas said, letting go of Jimmy's arm. “And we'll have to get Clarkson to come look at it.” Jimmy rested his hands, palm up, on his legs, and Thomas saw the bright red burns on his fingers. “Those burns, they're from silver, aren't they?”

 Jimmy nodded, blinking sleepily. “Yes.”

 Thomas picked up the container of ointment again, and rubbed some of in over the burns on Jimmy's hands with his own fingers; on the fingertips, the heel of his right hand, the painful, bright splotch over his left palm. Jimmy inhaled sharply- Thomas wondered if the burns pained him- but Jimmy did not flinch away. He looked up at Thomas, and caught his gaze- in that same transfixing way he'd done earlier, and Thomas's hands faltered, going still over Jimmy's.

 “Ah,” Thomas caught himself, and looked down, at Jimmy's hands. “You've got to keep yourself from hurting people, though- if you want to not get caught.”

 Jimmy nodded, and reached out, to rest the back of his hand, palm up, against Thomas's bare forearm. “I know,” He said, and Thomas looked up at the touch, and was caught by Jimmy's eyes again. A faint blush touched Jimmy's cheeks, in a band across his nose. “I'm _worried_ , though- because I don't remember that.”

 Thomas took a steadying breath, as Jimmy's knuckles brushed against his skin. “You don't remember it? Attacking that man?”

 Jimmy shook his head slowly, biting at his lip. “No. That's why I'm worried- what if something- something takes hold of me, and makes me do things- when I'm like _that_ -” his voice broke. “Something I'm not in control of?”

 Thomas felt heat on his face, and tried to fight it off. “Well, I'll just have to stay with you, next time. And make sure you don't _do_ anything,” he said.

 Jimmy sighed, his eyes falling shut, and he leaned forward, closing the space between them, and rested the side of his face against Thomas's shoulder. Thomas stilled, his mouth falling open in shock, but Jimmy brought his unhurt arm up, and looped it around Thomas's back, a half-embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice close to Thomas's ear. “When I said your room was comforting- I meant the _smell_ of it,” Jimmy went on, his voice quiet. Thomas could not think to answer, because it felt as though his heart was in his throat. “Because it's _yours_.”

 “Oh.” Thomas said, though he felt as though he could not think.

 “I want you close to me,” Jimmy said, inching closer, and holding on to Thomas tighter, as if to emphasize his point.

 “Y-you- I would always stay near you, if you wanted that-” Thomas said, unable to comprehend what was happening between them.

 “You're the only one I trust with my secret,” Jimmy nodded against his shoulder, and then let go, sitting back. Thomas felt the absence of him acutely- it tingled where Jimmy had touched him, as it had when he'd rested his hand on his chest. “I need to lie down, I think.”

 “Probably,” Thomas said, trying to shake himself out of his stupor. “I'll tell Mr. Carson everything-”

 “Not everything?” Jimmy asked him sharply, his eyes going wide.

 “No, of course not,” Thomas shook his head. “I'll tell him- I'll tell him you dropped your hat on the walk back to the house, and when you went to pick it up, the trap got you.”

 Jimmy looked hesitant, but nodded after a moment.

 “And then maybe the farmers around will have to go pick some of them up, if they know people are getting hurt by them,” Thomas said. “And I'll get your clothes, too.”

 “Alright.” Jimmy answered, his eyes mostly shut.

 Thomas led him back to his room, and paused outside the door once Jimmy was inside. He'd need to sleep in also- he would tell Mr. Carson that he'd been awake the whole time, tending to Jimmy's wounds- which was true, technically. And Jimmy would be in no shape to serve for a while at least, though Thomas was sure that Carson would only be too happy to come up with some alternate, one-handed tasks for him while he recovered.

 But Thomas felt a rush, nonetheless, even after everything that had happened in the last two nights. Bad things had happened, people had been hurt- Jimmy was in a dire predicament, for which Thomas was not certain if there was a cure- and yet, there was something happening between them now, something he would have never expected.

  _Don't think about it,_ Thomas told himself. _He's scared, he's upset, don't take advantage of that._

Even so, he felt elated by it, even as he ran back outside for Jimmy's clothing, to the suitcase beneath the tree. Something _was_ happening, and Jimmy _wanted_ him, in some capacity. Wanted his companionship. And physical comfort. And it wasn't everything, but it was enough for Thomas.


	3. Chapter 3

"This itching is going to drive me mad." Jimmy sat at the table in the servant's hall in his tan suit- sans the jacket, his rolled-up sleeves displaying the bandage on his left forearm. He held a hand of cards awkwardly with his right hand, and wore a pained grimace. "It itches _and_ hurts."

"Of course it does," Thomas said, laughing as he exhaled smoke. "Don't even think about scratching it again. Unless you _want_ to rip a stitch."

Jimmy pulled a face. "D'ya got a six?"

Thomas shook his head. "Nope."

Jimmy sighed and picked a card from the deck on the table and added it to others in his hand, his fingers stiff and inflexible.

Dr. Clarkson had given Jimmy's wound a once-over, and prescribed nothing other than frequent cleaning and rebandaging- a task that Thomas had taken upon himself. It was healing well, but slowly, and any amount of twisting or lifting could easily rip it open again, especially considering it had only been healing just shy of a week.

Of course, that meant almost all of his normal duties were out of the question. It was surprising how little one could do with only one hand, and not the smart hand at that- Thomas thought of his own injured hand, and felt grateful- not for the first time- that he'd been left with a hand at _all_ , nevermind one that was decently usable.

Mr. Carson had been close to livid- although he relented when he saw how serious the wound _was-_ and had given Jimmy the duties of an unofficial errand boy, much to Jimmy's chagrin. He had even made a vague threat of cutting his wages for the duration, until Mrs. Hughes had scoffed at him.

"First he gets his arm maimed by a trap," she'd said, "and now he's going to lose pay? That hardly seems fair."

Carson had relented after that, and given Jimmy a few days to recover before beginning to send him into the village for odds and ends. Berries for Mrs. Patmore's pudding, to pick up a small parcel of sample fabrics from Lady Edith's seamstress, or a box of spools of thread- nothing heavy enough or breakable enough to require two hands. Of course, Thomas was aware that it was busy work entirely; he'd picked up many of Jimmy's normal duties- it was just something to keep him from sitting idle.

Jimmy hadn't touched Thomas again since the night he'd been injured, at least, not in a _significant_ way- but things between them seemed to have shifted somehow. There was still something tense and unspoken between them, but _warmer,_ warmer like the smiles and sly glances Jimmy cast his way, when no one was looking at them. Thomas thought that maybe they were looks of gratitude, as they had been after the fair the year before, when he'd snatched Jimmy away from the beating that ended up being his own. Certainly the situation was similar enough; Thomas had rescued him from something, and so- and so Jimmy regarded him with affection. Affectionate gratitude. And that was all it was.

But that _wasn't_ all it was, and Thomas _knew_ that- he knew it from the way that Jimmy had acted that night- embracing him, telling him him that his smell was comforting- he had to look away from his cards for a moment, and compose himself at the thought.

"What is it?" Jimmy asked him, with one of the half-smiles that so often graced his face now, when their eyes met, "Afraid you're losing?"

Thomas cleared his throat and rolled his eyes at Jimmy. "You've got as many cards in your hand as I do, _if_ not more."

"Well don't _count_ them-" Jimmy protested, turning his body away from Thomas a bit. Thomas craned his neck, making a show of trying to get a look at Jimmy's cards as he pressed them against his chest. "That's cheating!"

Thomas shook his head, laughing. "I didn't _see_ anything," he said. "But I know all about that six you keep trying to get rid of. And that ten."

Jimmy mock frowned. "It's _your_ go," he said.

Thomas opened his mouth to ask for the six that Jimmy still held, but Jimmy looked away from him abruptly, over his own shoulder, to the doorway. A moment later Mr. Carson stepped into view, carrying an envelope.

"Ah, James," Mr. Carson began, brandishing the small parcel- but Jimmy had already set his cards on the table and was standing. "Bring this to be mailed straight away- and if there's any news on how Mr. Fletcher is healing, I'm sure we'd all like to hear it."

Jimmy took the envelope and tucked it under his arm, before grabbing his jacket from off the back of his chair. "Right away, Mr. Carson," he nodded, and Carson retreated down the hall to his office.

"I'll go with you." Thomas said, gathering the cards off the table- he had a few free hours in the afternoons every once in a while, and the house had been unusually quiet lately, besides."If you like," he said, at Jimmy's unreadable expression.

Jimmy's eyes hand been fixed on the floor, but he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and looked up at Thomas, his face still turned down. Thomas felt his breath catch in his throat, and he tucked Jimmy's cards away into his pocket for safekeeping.

"Yes, I would like that," Jimmy said, arranging his jacket over his uninjured arm. "Very much."

Thomas followed Jimmy across the grounds. The sky was still overcast- light grey, and the ground was still damp from the rain, but the air was pleasantly warm and patches of muted sunlight appeared here and there. Jimmy seemed intent on forgoing the road into the village, heading instead for the woods, which were dark with the shade of overhanging leaves.

"I'm sure there is someone who's _job_ it is to deliver mail into town," Jimmy groused, when they were well away from the house.

"You know how Carson is. Can't bear to let anyone sit without some chore unless they're physically ill," Thomas paused quickly to light his cigarette. "But it's strange," Thomas went on. Jimmy fell into step next to him, his feet neatly missing branches and brush without so much as a downward glance. "Could you hear Carson in the hallway? I couldn't hear him coming over the sound of pots clanging in the kitchen."

Jimmy nodded and said, "Yes." Thomas watched Jimmy's feet as he deftly jumped over a rotted old stump, and then balanced his way down a fallen log. "I heard his footsteps. I can hear a lot of things, now."

Thomas was so busy watching Jimmy's movements- indeed, he seemed more graceful than should have been possible for the way he was dressed, and with shoes that were not made for walking amongst dirt and slick leaves- that Thomas almost tripped himself on an exposed root. He caught his toe on it and nearly stumbled forward before he managed to get his balance back. "Like what?" He asked, feeling clumsy next to Jimmy's obvious ease in navigating the forest floor.

"Things you would never think of," Jimmy elaborated. "I know when people are about to say something. _Not-_ " He glanced over to Thomas. "Not _know,_ exactly- but I can hear them about to _speak-_ the sound of them drawing in a breath to say something."

Thomas raised his eyebrows, trying in vain to imagine being so aware of such minute sounds. "I think it would drive me mad."

Jimmy laughed and nudged Thomas with his elbow. "Stop for a moment and I'll tell you what I hear."

Thomas paused, and Jimmy stepped up to face him, cocking his head to the side. His face was still for a long moment. "There's a bird's nest in that oak tree," he nodded to a tree behind Thomas. "Four chicks- I think they're robins. Oh-" He grabbed Thomas's wrists, the inflexible hand on his injured arm just resting on the fabric of Thomas's sleeve. "Shh- be quiet for a moment," Jimmy insisted.

"I _am_ ," Thomas whispered back.

Jimmy shook his head. "Your heartbeat."

Thomas almost replied- he almost said something like 'yes of _course_ my heart is beating', but then he realized what Jimmy had meant- that his heart was beating quickly, or _loudly_. He felt overexposed all at once, thinking of all the times that Jimmy had touched him, recently, and how he must have heard Thomas's heart race, or how his breathing had picked up when Jimmy so much as looked at him.

"Yes-" Jimmy stepped closer to him, inclining his head towards Thomas, and Thomas felt his pulse speed up even further. "There's a fox den a ways from here. They have kits- I've come across it before, but I- I tried to stay away from it, I didn't want to bother them."

Jimmy looked up at Thomas, as though seeming to realize at once how close they stood. He wavered on his feet, as though he was about to step away. Thomas stayed as still as he could, with Jimmy so close to him- Jimmy's hands on his arms, Jimmy's eyes locked with his own. Thomas's cigarette rested between his fingers, burning away, forgotten.

But Jimmy did not step away- he leaned in a bit _closer_ , and took a deep breath, his eyelids fluttering shut. Thomas felt his face grow warm at their proximity, and hoped it did not show- they stood chest to chest, with just a hair's breadth between them. He was certain that if Jimmy could hear his heartbeat before, it must have been deafening to him now. It was the only thing Thomas could hear at all.

"Ah-" Jimmy stepped back, his cheeks going red. Thomas felt his body flood with warmth all at once at the sight of Jimmy's flushed face- a warmth that coiled and rested heavily in his stomach. He took a deep breath against the weight of it, and tried to get ahold of his own thoughts, knowing his heartbeat was now all but obvious to Jimmy. _And he likely knows exactly what I'm thinking-_

"Sorry," Jimmy looked away from him, and stepped off to keep walking.

Thomas cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. "S'fine," he mumbled, following after him again.

"It must be distracting, though," Thomas went on, trying to keep his voice steady. "To hear everything so clearly- and all the _smells_ ," Thomas grimaced, imagining the smell of refuse in the warm, damp weather, or body odor on the Dowager, or of the kitchen maids sweating over the stove- in part to keep himself from being so aroused.

Jimmy hesitated, glancing at Thomas over his shoulder. His eyes were half-closed, and his cheeks still tinged pink. "Yes, it can be very- _distracting_ -" Thomas felt his attempts at composure unravel all at once, leaving his mind blank. He swallowed. _Surely_ Jimmy couldn't mean that _he_ was distracting, with his _comforting smell_ -

Jimmy arranged the envelope under his arm more securely, dropping his eyes away from Thomas. "But I'm getting used to it. Sometimes I don't know what it _is_ that I'm hearing- or smelling."

"Oh?" Thomas asked, numbly.

Jimmy nodded, nudging a rock away with his toe as they walked. "Sometimes it's a strange plant, or- a small animal- sometimes small animals smell better than they should-" He wrinkled his nose at Thomas. "Sometimes I- _smell_ something, and I go looking everywhere for it and- and then it turns out to be something I never expected..." he trailed off, glancing at Thomas nervously.

Thomas nodded, "Ah, like what?"

Jimmy stopped again, and Thomas halted with him abruptly. Jimmy shifted the coat over to his injured arm, and reached the unwounded hand out to Thomas, slowly. His hand came to rest on Thomas's chest, just under his collarbone- Thomas felt it as he had before- _pinned_ in place by it, the warmth of his palm radiating through the layers of cloth over his skin.

"You don't know?" Jimmy asked, his voice dropping to a low whisper. Thomas felt his voice as much as heard it. He tried to answer Jimmy, but his throat had gone dry.

Jimmy removed his hand with monumental effort, as though he was struggling against a magnet's pull, and squeezed his eyes shut. He took a shaking breath before speaking. "I can't talk about it just yet."

Thomas nodded. "Right," he answered tightly, trying not to let himself get carried away into thoughts best left for when he was alone, in his bedroom. He would let Jimmy touch him forever, though- he would let Jimmy do whatever he wished, even if he couldn't understand _why_ -

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Jimmy, point blank, while they walked, what it was he _wanted._ But he couldn't bring himself to, especially not if it would make Jimmy stop doing- _whatever it was_ he was doing. Thomas was so giddy from it that his hands shook, and he tucked the free one into his jacket pocket to hide it. Whatever is _was_ that Jimmy wanted, Thomas would take it- he would mull over every look, every moment, every touch- and they would be _together_ , in a way. Especially if Jimmy _needed_ him, now.

He tried to keep himself from becoming too elated- though it was a losing battle, but he tamped down on the feeling as best he could. _Don't get your hopes up,_ he told himself. _He may never want anything more than this. He might not even want_ this _at all._ He was fully aware that Jimmy could withdraw his affections at any time, and that he probably _would,_ at some point. Perhaps when he felt more stable in his situation.

"When did it happen, then?" Thomas asked him, to keep his thoughts at bay. "If you're still getting used to it?"

"Oh," Jimmy looked up at him, as though he'd been lost in contemplation. "It's- I should have told you this before, I suppose-"

"You were a bit distracted. And bleeding." Thomas reminded him.

Jimmy smiled at him wanly- but the smile twisted into a half-grimace, as though he were remembering the pain of his injury. "Yes, well- it's only been two months."

Thomas nodded. He hadn't been sure of the exact time frame, but he'd guessed as much, when remembering Jimmy's afternoons off. He decided to omit that he remembered the dates of Jimmy's previous half-days so clearly. "What _happened,_ then? Were... were you _bitten_ by something?" He asked, his own question causing an uncomfortable shiver to run up his spine.

Jimmy shrugged and shook his head. "That's just it- I don't _remember._ " He cast an almost fearful glance in Thomas's direction. "I- I mean, I remember going out that day- walking the road to the village- I was going to catch the bus to Ripon for the day, but I don't think I ever even made it out of the woods." Jimmy's words were disjointed as he recalled the memory. "And then- at some point, I came to- it was just after sunset, and I was alone- by that _tree-_ and-" He cleared his throat, his brows furrowed into an anguished line. "-and then I _knew_ that something was wrong, and that something was happening to me, and I was afraid I was dying, maybe? Or- about to have some sort of fit or seizure."

Thomas was overwhelmed by sudden and intense empathy for Jimmy- as he imagined him, alone in the darkening woods, afraid for his life. The feeling clutched around his heart and throat and he drew in a lungful of smoke from his cigarette to fight it.

"But, then _it_ happened, instead," Jimmy went on, letting out a protracted sigh. "And that's all I know."

Thomas dropped the end of his cigarette into the damp dirt, stepping on it as the walked. "You must have been scared," he said. "Not knowing what was happening."

Jimmy nodded slowly. "Yes," he said, his voice going soft. He paused, his voice breaking. "I was very scared."

Thomas reached out to him, as if by some irresistible impulse, and touched his palm briefly to the fabric of Jimmy's shirt at his shoulder. It was only an instant- a brief reassuring touch, which he regretted after he took his hand away. But Jimmy cast his too-light eyes upon Thomas calmly, his face devoid of any scorn or upset, and continued to walk next to him.

Once in the village, Jimmy turned the envelope over to one of the younger workers in the post office. He paid for the postage from the small handful of coins in his jacket pocket that had been entrusted to him by Carson for his errands.

Mister Fletcher was sorting through stacks of mail behind the counter, a large swath of white bandaging visible above his collar. He was a younger, gawky sort of man with a mop of brown curls- not the sort of person Thomas would have pictured as postmaster, but he'd taken up the running of the office after his father had died from the flu. Jimmy seemed to pale visibly at the sight of the man, and he took step half-behind Thomas.

"How's it healing, then? They were wondering about you up at the house." Thomas said to Fletcher, who looked up at them from his stack of letters.

"S'alright, I suppose. No lasting damage," Fletcher shook his head, looking visibly unnerved. "But I haven't left my cottage after dark for a week. I hope someone catches the beast- the sooner the better."

Jimmy shifted closer to him still, his elbow bumping against Thomas's arm.

Thomas let his brows furrow in mock-confusion. "What did it look like? I heard someone say you thought it was a _wolf-"_

Mr. Fletcher dropped a bundle of letters and quickly stepped up to the counter, his eyes wide. Thomas saw Jimmy startle in his peripheral vision before he seemed to catch himself, swaying on his feet.

"But it _were_ a wolf, Mr. Barrow- I _saw_ it with my own eyes." Fletcher insisted, his voice full of conviction. "A great, big, black wolf! I saw it clear as day when lightning struck!"

"Ah." Thomas nodded. "Well, you never know about these things- James and I were just saying that someone might've brought home a wolf as a pet from some holiday. Isn't there Lady in London with all sorts of strange pets?" He turned to Jimmy, raising his eyebrows imploringly.

Jimmy cleared his throat nervously."I think I heard that; tigers or something-"

Fletcher seemed to calm a bit, and he nodded. "Yes, well- not many people have even entertained the thought. It's rough when everyone around you seems to think you've gone mad."

"Very true, that." Thomas said, as Jimmy shifted uneasily from foot to foot."We'll leave you to your work." He waved to Mr. Fletcher as they left, Jimmy hurrying out of the door in front of him.

When they were back on the village streets, Jimmy let out a long breath, as though he'd been holding it. "I swear to you," He mumbled to Thomas, from the corner of his mouth. "I _don't_ remember doin' that."

Thomas nodded quickly. "Yes, because I don't think you _did_ do it."

Jimmy looked up at him, his face twisted in confusion. "What do you _mean?_ You heard him say it was a _wolf,_ and I don't know of many others around here." He hissed.

"I heard him say it was a wolf, yes-" Thomas said to him. "A _black_ wolf. And you're not-" He paused, glancing around at passerby. "You're the color of your hair, sort of." He felt his face grow warm, for some reason.

"It was _dark_ out, though." Jimmy insisted.

"But he said there was _lightning_." Thomas shook his head at him. "It couldn't have been you, because _I_ was with you when the storm started. You were hanging about in the yard."

"Oh." Jimmy paused, his mouth falling open. "You're sure?" Thomas nodded, pulling a cigarette and his lighter from his jacket pocket.

"Do you think there's... _another_ , then?" Jimmy whispered harshly, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Thomas shrugged. "How d'ya think you got turned into one? Must have been another around at _some_ point."

Jimmy gulped, his eyes darting around, as though he would catch the suspect walking by. "You _must_ be right."

"I'm sure I am." Thomas answered archly, resting his cigarette between his lips to light it.

"Oh, go on, then," Jimmy said, managing a light laugh. He shoved against Thomas's shoulder with his own. "You've got everything worked out, haven't you?"

"Not quite." Thomas grinned. "But I'm sure it won't take me _too_ much longer."

"Ha-" Jimmy said, turning to look at the village green as they walked.

The green was filled with half-built stalls and streamers hung amongst the trees. There was a crew of a dozen or so men setting things up busily. A carousel quietly waited on the far side of the green next to an empty games tent, and lights had been strung up around the perimeter.

"Ah, look, the fair is here," Jimmy said, pointing to the men working on the grass. "Everyone'll want to be going."

"Mmm," Thomas hummed. As much as he wanted the excuse to leave the house for a night, he had less than fond memories of the last fair, to say the least. The charm of it seemed thin in retrospect. And he wanted Jimmy there even less than himself, especially if he felt inclined to gamble. Not that he had much say in the matter. "We shouldn't... I mean- you can go if you like-"

Jimmy shook his head, and reached up to rearrange his cap. "No, you're right. I don't think we should."

Thomas looked over at him sharply. Jimmy frowned, his eyes darting up to Thomas's face and away. "I hope your not saying that on my account," he said to Jimmy, glancing over at the grassy area again.

"No, I'm not." Jimmy answered. "Just doesn't seem like a good idea. I'm in enough trouble as it is."

"It's probably not the best time to ask Carson for another free evening," Thomas said, ducking under low hanging leaves from a tree next to the road. "Especially considering you'll need to be asking him for three nights off again soon."

Jimmy sighed, shutting his eyes wearily. "Or _four_. It was four nights this past month. I have to-" Jimmy snorted derisively. "I have to chart out the moon phases- I've got a calendar in my room-"

Jimmy's eyes snapped up suddenly, his face going still. Thomas followed his gaze and caught sight Miss Douglas- the newest cook from the Crawley House- walking in their direction, carrying a bag of assorted fruits and vegetables. She was wearing a hat and her face was turned down as she walked, but she was only a few paces from them. She hadn't seen them yet- he tugged on Jimmy's sleeve and made to turn around. "We should get back."

Jimmy's expression soured. "Yes, I think you're right." He said, turning on his heel.

"Why do _you_ want to get away from her? It's _me_ she's after," Thomas asked lowly.

"I _told_ you- I don't like how she's always lookin' at you." Jimmy insisted, speaking from the corner of his mouth.

"Mr. Barrow!" He heard the woman's voice call behind them, and then her quickening footsteps over the cobblestones. Thomas sighed, and paused, rolling his eyes at Jimmy before they turned around.

"Mr. Barrow, it _is_ you!" Miss Douglas smiled brightly. She tucked a loose lock of dark hair up into her hat- Thomas thought she was practically batting her eyelashes at him. She was a pretty sort of girl, if those were your tastes- with fair skin and black hair and large, dark eyes. She glanced over at Jimmy, distractedly. "Oh, yes- and- _James_ , was it?"

Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest. "Jimmy." He corrected, shortly.

"Jimmy, yes," Miss Douglas's brows furrowed, and she returned her gaze to Thomas. "An afternoon without rain is very pleasant, for once."

Thomas fought back a retort and instead managed a tight smile. "Yes, it's very nice- Jimmy and I have to be getting back to Downton."

"Oh." Her face fell, but she quickly recovered with another smile. "You must know the fair is starting tomorrow? If you're going, perhaps you'd like some company?"

Jimmy snorted. "No, he wouldn't." Thomas glanced over at him sharply- Jimmy was glaring at Miss Douglas, his lips almost turned into a sneer.

"Ah, what he means by that is-" Thomas said quickly, drawing her attention away from Jimmy. While his preferences may have been somewhat of an open secret in the house now, he couldn't have the entire village knowing if he wanted to keep himself with a job and out of jail. "Last fair I went to, I got mugged by a group of thieves- needless to say it's not an experience I'd like to repeat."

"Oh, I see!" She gasped, her brows furrowing. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that, you poor thing!" She reached out, resting her fingertips lightly against Thomas's forearm. Next to him, Jimmy covered a noise of discontent with a cough. "Perhaps I'd best not go either, if it's so dangerous!"

"Perhaps not." Thomas forced his best approximation of a smile, removing his arm from her touch. "We really have to be getting back."

Jimmy nodded solemnly. "We're very late."

"Yes, of course." Miss Douglas hefted her bag of produce. "I should return as well. Some other time, then!" She turned away from them, waving a hand as she left.

When she was a few paces away, Jimmy turned and stalked off ahead of Thomas, towards the far side of the village. Thomas had to jog a few steps to catch up with him. "I _don't_ like her." Jimmy explained, unbidden, when Thomas fell into step with him. He slackened his pace a bit and let out a sigh.

"She's nice enough. A little handsy, though." Thomas teased, bringing his cigarette to his lips.

"Nice?!" Jimmy balked, his eyes widening. "Nice? You think she's _nice?_ And _handsy_ isn't the right word- she was practically _crawling_ all over you."

Thomas laughed. "It's not as though I'm going to _do_ anything about it. I'm not exactly interested in her sort."

Jimmy muttered something under his breath as the passed into the woods again. He shoved his hands into his pockets forcefully, only to draw his left hand out again slowly, hissing in pain. He folded his injured arm across his front, wincing.

"Careful with that!" Thomas told him. Jimmy was still scowling darkly, pain flitting across his brow. "What is it to you, anyway? It's not like you're jealou-"

"I _told_ you I couldn't talk about it yet!" Jimmy spun around, pinning him with a glare.

Thomas took a step back, snapping a damp twig under his foot. "What d'you mean?"

Jimmy sighed and closed his eyes, his expression softening into weariness. "Thomas, stop being so obtuse."

"I-" Thomas felt his pulse spike suddenly, in a rush- before his mind could make sense of Jimmy's words. "I'm not being obtuse."

"Yes, you _are_ ," Jimmy insisted, beginning to walk again, as though to put some distance between them and the village. He lapsed into brooding silence, and Thomas followed him, his heart stupidly racing; giving itself away to Jimmy again.

They walked together into the thickest part of the woods between the village and Downton, Thomas's eyes on the slick leaves under his feet. Jimmy stopped walking abruptly, shifting his jacket from one arm to the other, and leaned back against the slowly-drying trunk of a tree.

"Have I not been clear enough with you?" Jimmy asked him. "About how I feel?"

Thomas reached for another cigarette with numb fingers. He didn't usually smoke them end-to-end, but he needed it now to keep himself calm. "Clear?" His fingers trembled, and he fumbled with his lighter. "Clarity isn't usually one of your strong points, Jimmy-"

"I'm not ready to talk about this-" Jimmy told him, studying the dirt.

"So you've said." Thomas interrupted, his thumb slipping uselessly over the flint wheel. "I wish I knew what you were talking _about_."

"I'm trying to tell you- I've _tried-_ I've tried my best to be honest with you." Jimmy reached out a hand to Thomas. "You must know that there's something happening between us."

"Ah-" Thomas gave up on his cigarette, dropping it and the lighter into his pocket. "What do you mean?"

Jimmy closed his eyes, pressing his lips into a thin line. "You _really_ don't know what I'm getting at? I know I haven't _said_ it, really- but- I-" He stepped forward, grasping Thomas's hand with his outstretched one, and tugging on it, gently. "Thomas. Come here."

Thomas let himself be led by Jimmy's pull, until they stood bare inches apart. Jimmy regarded him worriedly, though Thomas found it difficult to meet his eyes, as transfixing as they were. He wondered if it was because of the _way_ Jimmy was now- some sort of _attraction_ between them-

_Yes, maybe-_ his mind dared to think, the thought swimming up from wherever he'd been struggling to silence it.

Jimmy moved his wounded arm slowly, lifting it up off of Thomas's sleeve, and and reaching across his chest, to press his burn-tipped fingers over Thomas's heart. He could feel it pounding, the tremor of it echoing into Jimmy's palm. Jimmy blinked slowly.

"Put your hand on me, like this." Jimmy instructed, quietly. Thomas took a sharp breath, but did as Jimmy asked, bringing his own hand up to the left side of Jimmy's chest. Jimmy dropped his jacket on to the ground and grasped Thomas's shaking fingers with his own hand, pressing Thomas's palm flat against his chest, over his heart. "I already know how you feel, Thomas, I can _hear_ this- and I knew it anyway-" Jimmy's pulse was steady under his hand, but quick; and Thomas could feel his shallow breaths in the rise and fall of his chest. "It's hard for me to say it, yet. But maybe you can _feel_ how I feel..."

"I- I don't know what you mean-" Thomas mumbled.

"You must, though." Jimmy lifted his injured hand up to Thomas's shoulder, letting it rest there as he took a step closer. Their other hands were trapped between them; Thomas's still over Jimmy's heart- which jumped as they drew closer to each other- and over it, Jimmy's right hand, the back of which pressed against Thomas's chest.

Jimmy took a shaking breath, and rested his head against the side of Thomas's face. "Don't tell me that you don't know," Jimmy whispered.

Thomas's eyes were fixed on the tree in front of him, but he blinked a few times at Jimmy's words, and managed to pull himself back into the present, nodding. "I couldn't assume- not again."

"I know- I couldn't _tell_ you, though-" Jimmy tilted his face towards Thomas, and he felt Jimmy's lips drag against his cheek, a ghost of a touch. Thomas could barely believe what was happening, so he kept as still as he could; as though Jimmy were under a spell that would be broken by his movement, and he would retreat, like a startled animal. He left his hand against Jimmy's chest, feeling his rapid breaths, the surge of his pulse as it picked up, losing it's steady rhythm- the warmth on Jimmy's cheek, next to his own- and felt warmth suffuse through his own body from how close they stood, and from the meaning behind Jimmy's words.

Jimmy's lips pressed against the corner of his mouth, with gradual pressure, until Thomas felt Jimmy's lashes brush against his cheek, and his hair against his brow. Thomas took a gasping breath, unable to catch himself- but Jimmy was not startled away by it, as he had anticipated. Instead, his lips left Thomas's skin slowly, and he only stepped back a bit, his cheeks red and his eyes heavy-lidded.

"Do you understand?" He asked, his voice low and uneven.

Thomas nodded once. "I think so." He said, but his mind was utterly blank.

Jimmy bent to retrieve his jacket, brushing it off before slinging it back over his arm. "Now we really _should_ be getting back." He said, glancing up at Thomas, almost shyly.

"Yes." Thomas nodded again, and reached into his pocket for his forgotten cigarette. The shaking in his hands was maybe worse now than it had been before, but he managed to get it lit after a few tries, and he followed Jimmy back up to the house, without another word between them.


End file.
